


Let your heart be light

by softeninglooks



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, Christmas, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:15:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29363115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softeninglooks/pseuds/softeninglooks
Summary: Where Steve and his mom spend Christmas Eve at the Barnes’, Bucky takes a nap and Steve draws him.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Let your heart be light

When the two boys slid their shivering frames through the doorway, shaking off the snowflakes caught in their hair and coats as they took the latter off, the first thing to welcome them was the delicious waft of food which had enveloped the entire apartment, the perky jingling of cutlery that emanated from the kitchen accounting for the fact that an active cooking activity was indeed taking place in there. Their cheeks rosy from the piercing cold and their breath short from having spent the afternoon out in the snow, they untied their shoes, leaving them in the corridor, and proceeded to the living room, where the warmth radiating off the crackling fireplace eased the prickling of their skin at once.  
“Mom, we’re back!” Bucky announced, heading for the kitchen, Steve in his wake. “How are you? It smells so good in here!”  
“We were wondering when you boys would come back and give us a hand,” Mrs Barnes gave them a smile, shaking her head. “It’s all fine. We should always make joined Christmas dinners, it’s a lot less exhausting than doing it yourself for the whole family,” she added gratefully, glancing at Sarah, who nodded in approval.  
“Are you okay darling?” The blond woman caringly asked Steve, who reassured her with a light-hearted nod.  
“If there’s anything we can do, we’ll be glad to help,” he then assured voluntarily, earning an affectionate look from the two women.  
“Actually, I have a feeling you’ll cause more trouble than anything…” One of Bucky’s sisters retorted humorously.  
“That may not be wrong…,” the brunet boy conceded sheepishly, eyeing all the culinary supplies suspiciously.  
“Maybe you could dress the table, how about that?” Mrs Barnes proposed an alternative. “It’s a little too early now, but we’ll call you when it’s the right time. For the time being, why don’t you go put some records on?”  
“Sure!”  
“Steve, stay close to the fireplace!” The other boy’s mom called after her son as Bucky and Steve took off, shaking her head fondly as the blond promised that she didn’t have to worry (although he had barely recovered from a cold). “Kids…” Sarah muttered, sharing a knowing glance with Winnifred, who could only chuckle. “But at least they look after one another.”  
“Thank God,” the brunette woman laughed, rolling her eyes. “Sometimes I wonder whether that causes less or more trouble.” 

Meanwhile, Steve and Bucky set to complete the task that they had been asked to undertake. Rummaging through the music collection of the Barnes with great care, Steve selected a record which Bucky then placed upon the turntable, sparking up the soft whirring of the record player while he was cautiously manipulating the needle. A few seconds later, the merry tune of a Christmas song erupted from the device, taking over the far-off clattering and voices coming from the kitchen with smooth notes of jazz that swirled through the room.  
“There we go,” a satisfied smile played upon Bucky’s lips, the young man letting himself tumble on the nearby couch with a deep sigh. “I feel like I could take a nap just now…,” he breathed out, lazily stretching out his arms while letting his head fall backwards against the backrest.  
“Tired already?” Steve raised a daring eyebrow, teasing his friend with his usual playfulness.  
“Shut up,” without even looking, Bucky grabbed a pillow and threw it toward the other boy’s voice, but missed the target. “How the hell do you still have energy?”  
“I don’t, I just pretend,” the blond actually confessed, shrugging as he laughed. He never had to play pretend with Bucky, who always accepted him the way he was, no matter whether he caught Steve on a painful day of suffering from sickness, had to come to his rescue in a fight or simply met with him to hang out. Plus, his best friend had seen him in dire straits one too many times to unnecessarily play tough. “Alright, you take a nap, I’ll get my sketchbook.”  
“Wake me up if I happen to actually drift off,” Bucky mumbled, momentarily straightening up just so he could cuddle up to the cushion set in the corner where the armrest and the backrest formed an angle. Through half-closed eyelids, he noticed Steve taking a seat on the floor and flick through the pages of his sketchbook, the flames happily waltzing in the chimney behind him sending glimmering beams across the young man’s shirt and skin, their reflection playing in the golden strands of hair that brushed his forehead as he craned his neck, concentrated on his sketch.  
Lulled by the gay rhythm of the music and the regular, soft sound of his friend’s pen scraping a piece of paper, Bucky feared that he in truth might just doze off, the both peaceful and jolly atmosphere of the room exacerbating his body’s will to rest. However, there was no way he was going to leave Steve alone on Christmas evening, especially since they spent it together this year, so Bucky fought sleepiness back by trying to keep his mind awake. _Just a few minutes,_ he told himself, _I’ll rest for a little bit, then I’ll be ready to celebrate._  
Since the early December evening had already dawned, the room would’ve been bathed in darkness if not for the chirping chimney and the bright lights that had been turned on, making it easier for Bucky not to let his thoughts succumb to the strain of his body. He wondered whether his family would like the gifts he got them, but especially if Steve would — since Bucky had more money, he always tried to get his friend a present that he would be particularly fond of for Christmas, and he knew that Steve would also do his best to offer him something nice in return, though with more limited means. But most importantly, Bucky was merely glad and excited to spend the 24th of December surrounded by everyone he loved most, especially since Steve and his mother were joining them around the table this year. In the end, gifts mattered little.

“Why the hell didn’t you wake me up?” Running a hand over his face, Bucky groaned while blinking several times, struggling to adjust his clouded sight to the lighting of the living room. It turned out that keeping oneself awake was quite a difficult task, even when one might tell themselves that their lively thoughts would keep their distracted from the lure of slumber. “What time is it?”  
“Don’t worry Buck, it’s only been fifteen minutes,” Steve reassured him distractedly, still hunched over his drawing. “It’s nearly seven.”  
Pushing himself away from the armrest of the couch, Bucky’s fingers tangled in his hair as he tried to make it sit properly, pushing loose brown strands off his forehead. Only fifteen minutes, that was acceptable. He yawned into the back of his hand, stretching his back, then swung his legs onto the floor and bent forward, trying to get a glimpse of Steve’s doodles — his gaze landed on the outline of a sofa, on which he recognised his own silhouette.  
“You know I’m gonna become famous too if you do, right? I’m your number one drawing reference, at this point.” He joked, but the soft glow of his eyes, from either remnants of sleepiness or fondness, made it seem like he was actually both touched and impressed.  
“It’s not my fault if you fall asleep on my watch. What do you want me to do? For once, something stays still while I’m sketching, I gotta make most of it.”  
It took Steve another few minutes to come to end of his sketch of a sleepy Bucky, fixing the shadows playing in the folds of his friend’s clothes as his pencil adroitly glided across the paper. Bucky, still towering over the blond, kept on watching him draw above Steve’s shoulder, having always been fasciated by the way his friend could so beautifully make images come to life out of nothingness — no matter how much the other boy would get frustrated over a doodle that he struggled with, Bucky knew that it would still be infinitely better than anything most people could come up with. Seeing the curves and edges of his own body forming such meticulous shapes under Steve’s fingertips, the brunet felt like he had caught his own self plunged in a slumber; as if time had turned back to just minutes ago, and he could witness his reflection laying on the couch.  
“Alright.” After one last stroke of a pen, Steve held the sketchbook up, analysing the outcome. Bucky could tell that he wasn’t disappointed with the result as the young man put it back down, not getting another hold of his pencil either. “You’re not still sleepy, are you?” He then turned around to give Bucky a quick smile, emerging out of the state of concentration that had taken over him while he was drawing.  
“No, I’m not. It’s time for celebration now!” His friend retorted energetically, alluding to the festive Christmas tree that had been set in a corner of the room, the few colourful decorations tangled up in its branches and the golden star at its top gleaming as light ricocheted off them.  
With a brief glance at the window, Bucky noticed that the snowfall had grown even stronger, thick and fluffy snowflakes coating the entire street and delicate flowers of frost already starting to spring upon the panes, adorning them with whimsical motives.  
“Boys!”  
Before Steve and Bucky had time to do anything else, Mrs Barnes’s voice reached them from the kitchen, rising above the music that had continued playing.  
“Boys, come and set the table!”  
“On it!” Her son shouted back, not a single trouble weighing his heart down as the only think he could focus on was this special night, full of the joy and warmth of sharing it with all the people dearest to him. “Shall we?” He took a look at Steve, unable to suppress a wholesome smile that he just couldn’t contain. And he didn’t want to.  
“We shall,” his friend agreed, smiling back. “First to get to the kitchen wins?” and, before Bucky could answer, the blond was off.  
“Steve, you have asthma!” was all that Bucky could yell after him, laughing as he trailed behind, however catching up fast.  
“But I’m winning!”  
A very merry Christmas indeed.


End file.
